


Truckerverse Pt. I

by WillowPerpetua



Series: Truckerverse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Truckers, Americana, M/M, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowPerpetua/pseuds/WillowPerpetua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What embodies the spirit of America more than long stretches of open road and the transient rest stops that call to us with their ghosts and memories of all the road trips that have come before us? <br/>Bucky is a trucker who picks up a hitchhiker during a snowstorm. <br/>Steve lives above the convenience store in a town that is made to be passed through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truckerverse Pt. I

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the MCU Flashfic Meme. The goal is to write 52 fics in 52 weeks. The prompt for this one was "A New Beginning."

A violent wind blew along the street as the lights flickered into being and snow fluttered down, illuminated in streams of gold by their glow. In the cold of it all, a man walked with his head bent low, as if moving forward was all that mattered on earth. He slipped, righted himself, and kept walking.

From inside the truck, with the heat turned up high and the radio turned down low, it may have been easy for another man to watch his progression, but not for Bucky. The pity turned over in his stomach and he turned the key. The engine roared to life. He pulled up slowly beside the man.

“Where you headed?”

“Can you drop me off at the next stop? I don’t want to be any trouble.” He said.

“It’s not trouble.” Bucky said, and he meant it. He leaned over, unlocked the passenger side door, and the man got in, caked in ice. “You’ve been out there a long time.”

“Probably.” The man nodded, took off his gloves, and held his hands up close to the heating vents. “Do you mind?” He asked, before reaching over to the dial to crank the heat up as far as it would go.

“Be my guest.” Bucky said. He took his eyes off the road for a moment to give the man a good once over. He was younger than he might have guessed at first. With his scarf pulled down, Bucky caught a sharp jawline and well defined features. He looked as much like a boy who knew how to kiss as a boy who knew how to fight, but for all that he still looked very much like a boy.

“Thanks. I’m Steve.” He said.

“Bucky.” Bucky inclined his head in greeting. “Can I ask you a question, Steve?” He received only a suspicious look in return, so Bucky went on and asked it anyway. “What are you running from, kid?”

“What makes you think I’m running?” Steve asked, with a smile that lit up the cabin and hit at something in Bucky’s chest that he would think about later, at a more convenient time.

“You ain’t out in this storm for fun.” Bucky adjusted the wipers to a higher speed as he spoke. The snow was coming down faster.

“The walk isn’t usually so bad. Just the weather today’s somethin’ awful.” Steve said.

“Getting there.” Bucky said, though whether he was referring to the weather getting from bad to awful or to arriving at their location, he was not sure. Both were true. He turned onto the exit for the next rest stop. It was one of those transient rest spaces along highways where picnic tables lived, vacant except for the ghosts and vending machines remained stocked on hope alone. The truck stop nestled up near by, though from the looks of it, it was closed. Bucky should have checked the radio. He should have known the storm would hit this far East.

“What are _you_ running from?” Steve asked. Bucky felt a jolt of panic at the question, the guilt spreading into his shoulders.

“’m not.” He said.

“See that?” Steve pointed out the window at an illuminated patch glowing above the gas station.

“Yeah.” Bucky said.

“That’s my apartment.”

Bucky turned into the parking lot, empty of any other trucks, and parked under the awning that provided some cover from the snow which fell down in sheets upon them. It was as close as he could get Steve to the light that shown above them.

“The inn is three blocks West.” Steve said. Bucky gave a gruff, humorless laugh. As if he had the spare cash to cough up on a luxury like a motel.

“I’ll sleep in here.” Bucky said.

“You might be here a couple of nights.”

“Naw. Can’t. The shipment is expected. Got a new boss to impress.” Bucky shook his head. “’sides. I got chains. I’ll be okay.”

“Want a hand with them?” Steve asked. The urge to resist, to assure Steve that he could manage on his own was there, but it was bitter cold outside and the wind whistled past like a bad memory. Bucky nodded once.

They wrestled the chains onto the tires on their respective sides of the truck, feeling their fingers go numb. Steve finished the job in half the time it took Bucky and he tried not to dwell on Steve’s arms and his own bad left arm which ended just below the elbow. It was easy to hide in the cabin of the truck, but not out here in the snow. If he noticed, Steve didn’t mention it, and so neither did Bucky. Bucky climbed back behind the wheel and Steve stood before the truck while he pulled forward. It was easier when he wasn’t alone.

“You got dinner plans?” Steve asked when the job was finished.

“I was going to get something in there, but it doesn’t look too promising, does it?” Bucky jerked his head in the direction of the convenience store, which was very closed. Instead, Bucky envisioned the stash of snacks in the cabin of the truck. It was not exactly food, but it would keep him fed.

“Nope. C’mon.” Steve said. The promise of warmth and food won him over. He followed Steve through the snow up a flight of stairs and around the back of the building, secure in the knowledge that although he knew little of the man walking ahead of him, he felt comfortable with him. 

Steve’s place was small, but warm. They shrugged their coats off onto the shag carpet that coated the floor. One look said that it was the real deal, a relic of the seventies, when this place was built as a bachelor pad for somebody who probably put the cigarette burns into the counter top that separated the living room from the kitchen.

Steve threw his hat onto a pile of junk: records, cans of paint, a stray weight, pictures and magazines strewn across a low table and the floor, all of which blended into one under the mess.

“I don’t get a lot of company.”

“You don’t do this a lot?” Bucky asked, with a crooked smile that found its way across his face without thought or effort.

“Invite strange men up to my apartment?” Steve asked. “Not often, no.” He continued removing layers, his scarf and sweater, and if it weren’t for the shift in his voice down half an octave and the heat in his eyes that had not been there just ten minutes ago, Bucky would not have thought a thing of it. As it was, watching Steve slide his sweater over his head, revealing a few inches of torso as his shirt clung to it, made Bucky’s mouth go dry.

“Thanks for not leaving me out in the cold.” Bucky said. He took a step closer and Steve closed the distance.

“You warm enough yet?” He asked. Bucky shook his head in response.

Theirs was an intimacy that left them wondering if they had been with each other before and somehow left the memories in a drunken haze or in a dream or in some other lifetime. Each move, every touch, was both familiar and thrilling. The rush came not from a desire to finish and abandon each other, but rather from the desperate need to know what would come next. Each sensation was a discovery.

When it was over, they sprawled out with limbs draped across each other or spread like starfish over the ghastly orange carpet. Their chests heaved up and down to gain great breaths of air or else to let out tentative, shaking laughter. Bucky adjusted his pants, which never did make it farther than halfway down his thighs.

“Tell me you’re coming back this way.” Steve said. He tried to keep the longing from his voice, too proud to beg a stranger to come back. This was a life of friendly unattached companionship, not romance. Steve understood that. Still, he wanted to cling tight to this man and not let go. Bucky nodded.

“I’m headed back on the same route. I’ll be back in a couple of days.” Bucky could see Steve’s shoulders relax and he felt it too.

Bucky left in the morning before Steve awoke, feeling refreshed in a way that he did not feel when he left his own home before a long haul. He mused that they did not live all that far apart, all things considered. He drove farther in any given week for less in return. Perhaps he could come back


End file.
